


look at him. he's got anxiety.

by jukain



Series: the one where there's actually medical professionals [5]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Humor, Slice of Life, gay twink solidarity, gratuitous mentions of Hank while him not being present, subtle references to mental health issues, subtler references to developmental disorders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 06:26:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16034837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jukain/pseuds/jukain
Summary: Making friends is not a strength Connor has readily available.Nick doesn't mind.





	look at him. he's got anxiety.

It takes Connor an hour (and fourteen minutes and thirty two seconds) to finally take a real notice of Nick after he sits down nearby, a tablet in hand, and proceeds to spend the just-over-an-hour penning down something with an uncanny amount of determination. With horrific posture. It would have almost caused Connor sympathy pain if he had any comprehensible insight into what arthritis felt like. His joints were flawless.

Connor only barely remembers not to immediately peek into the handheld device, his natural (and programmed) curiosity be damned, but after so long of the man sitting there in silence and... drawing?-- he was growing more and more frustrated. Impatient? Puzzled. It's a fresh new blend of only mildly annoying emotions and just enough to make his fingers twitch and drum, unsure where to sit on the keyboard panel he wasn't even using (going through paperwork was much faster in his systems). Anticipation, fervent curiosity. It was nice having names for all of these feelings for compartmentalizing purposes (also it made them less unknown which in turn made them less frightening).

Typically nobody ever approached Connor, nonetheless took a seat anywhere near his person, without having a reason to. Except for Hank, clearly, but there were a wide variety of factors playing into that besides cohabiting the same work space. Sometimes Hank came across a “good dog” (implying there is such thing as a _not_ good dog which is untrue and borderline slander) while stepping out and wanted to show Connor a picture. Sometimes Hank thought he was being humorous and ruffled Connor's hair, ignoring his tactful protests and at times embarrassingly warbled shouting noises while he attempted in vain to bat his partner's hand away while the man had the _audacity_ to chuckle in _merciless glee_ at **[highly unrelated to original line of thought desisting]**

(he turned all of Hank's shirts inside out the following evening)

But no, Nick had simply snagged a chair and planted himself in a corner nearby, definitely close enough for initiating polite social interaction, but never doing so. He was relaxed, if his stiff and most definitely painful hunch and slightly twisted expression was-- no, “relaxed” would not be the best word for it, far from it. Deep in concentration, no doubt. Connor heard him swear under his breath approximately eleven times, though a twelfth could be debated depending on what one would constitute as--

“You good?” One day Connor would successfully be able to time his moments of mental wandering without a suspicious pause in activity, but that day was nowhere near close to the present.

“I am doing well,” he responds and pretends he didn't sit and stare blankly at his hands for the last two minutes. Fifty seconds. He straightens his posture, though there is no ache in his back or unnatural bend to his artificial spine. It feels necessary somehow.

“Great,” Nick chirps shortly, sitting up (oh thank god) and flipping through files on the tablet with his fingers, sticking his stylus in his mouth, visibly between his teeth. Connor has absolutely no possible explanation for this and decides it's better not pursuing.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Connor asks, a little pressing, after a moment of hesitation. Nick shakes his head a little. This is a very unhelpful dialogue.

The unhelpful man, who is now slowly rotating from side to side in his seat from nervous energy, snatches the stylus from his mouth and clicks it to the side of the tablet, attaching it securely.

“It's quiet over here. For as quiet as a police station is, anyway. Dunno. Good spot and I like your company. Everyone's all stressed and loud and I am not in this career for many reasons.”

“You like my what?” Connor asks way too quickly, the simulated heat of embarrassment (with pinpoint accuracy) creeping up his neck and settling somewhere in his face. He grimaces. Nick definitely notices, raising his gaze up to Connor, but appears otherwise unfazed. As he always does. He's quite good at that and it disturbs everyone in the office immensely because it reminds them too much of Connor (he does not find this offensive as it is true).

“I'm pretty sure you record conversations or something but I'll say it again just in case so you can get it on record: I like your company. You do your thing and you aren't loud and it's calming.”

And he says it like it's the most simple thing in the world and somewhere Connor feels the phrase “can't argue with that” followed by some kind of stock photo image of a man making an exaggerated face of reluctant acceptance surface, but he quickly pushes it aside (saves the image to miscellaneous storage).

“Unnecessary noise and interruptions to my work are not my favorite things, no.” Neither was someone coming up from behind and ruining his hair and finding insulting amounts of personal entertainment out of it, but Connor deliberately chooses to not mention this, instead opting for continuing the line of conversation by introducing a related topic: “Clara works silently as well, from what I've seen. I imagine you must be used to that over a chaotic environment.”

To Connor's surprise, Nick makes a face of uncertainty, displeasure, and further emphasizes it with a little shake of his hand. “I mean, sort of, but she's usually busy helping with the hospital stuff. Like she's doing right now. Meanwhile I've been working with a mix of humans and androids who are all experiencing various amounts of shell-shock and some of them are technically my coworkers. Not to mention me. It's kind of chaos all around and the quiet isn't always the soothing kind.”

Connor gleans bits of information from this that he quickly sets aside for further review:

>> Nick has experience working with both humans and androids in an informal setting. (follow-up at a later convenience)

>> Nick does not see Clara very often while working.

>> Nick has hinted that he has experienced a personal trauma. (approach with caution)

 

Connor isn't entirely sure how to respond, but Nick sees his probably very open expression of “I have zero social protocol to continue this despite me being the one asking” and shrugs with a heavy rise and fall of his shoulders. Small mercies.

“Sudden noises and movement freak me out. I get startled easy. You're really predictable to me compared to everyone else here and, like I said, you just do you. Sometimes having silent company is nice. _Companionable_ , as they say.”

Connor can count exactly how many times the Lieutenant has gotten startled by his sudden appearance in the last several weeks, be it from him turning around a corner or walking plainly up to him with clear visibility (the numbers reaching triple digits), but he can also say he has never once recorded a human finding his behavior _predictable_. Especially since deviancy. If anything he's intensely _more_ jerky and sporadic than he originally was, and Hank was chasing after him often even then whenever he had business to attend to at that very second and decided not to wait. Then again, he was supposed to become deviant from the start. He didn't like to think about that. **[line of thought redirecting]**

“That is... unexpected,” Connor replies, surprise audible even to him. “Humans don't normally find my presence tolerable, much less companionable.”

“Yeah well humans are dumb.” Nick mutters quickly, causing Connor to pause, before he sifts through his previous interactions with the doctor and decides the most appropriate course of action would be to continue talking as normal, whatever that entailed.

“Communication is much different between humans and androids, much less crossing over the two. For all my programming, I lack the experience and... some ability, I think, to pick up on some social cues and quips. Slang. My attempts to integrate them into my vocabulary have proved less than-- not _great_.” Nick has the nerve to snicker a little at that and Connor knows _he_ knows exactly what he means and almost wants to be offended, but they're having a strange heart-to-heart and he doesn't have these often with people who are not Hank, so he allows it.

“Yeah, humans are dumb and think everyone's on the exact same wavelength as they are. And no matter what you say it's _mind-boggling_ that someone thinks differently than someone else, and reads something differently. Understands it differently. I had enough of this shit in my early adulthood and honestly? Androids are way easier to talk to. You guys know what you mean and say what you mean, and when you aren't sure, you actually bring that up too. I can't stand all the subtext and arguments over semantics. It got old and I'm too tired and too gay for it.”

A past Connor would have likely cocked his head a little in confusion at the remark, not understanding the joke. May have asked to clarify. This Connor in the present, on the other hand, has spent a great deal of time around one Hank Anderson, the resident vocal millennial with a penchant for dipping into generational culture and humor during alarmingly off-putting times (going out for groceries, going to an open homicide crime scene, going out to the dog park with Sumo). Perhaps Hank's immediate peers at the DPD could understand the references better than Connor, having all been around and on the internet at roughly the same period of time, but this time, Connor _does_ understand. Connor _understands_ _this_ and the thrill of this revelation is enough to send his processor into overdrive with a burst of happiness.

“I feel the same,” Connor replies coolly. He has this. He _has_ this. “Though perhaps less so the _tired_ part given obvious biological differences. But the same.” Nick is full-on laughing and Connor records every second of it in perfect definition for his collection that he will never show anyone else ever. Except maybe a handful of his friends. Maybe everyone else while he's at it since it's positive progress on his end as far as human relations goes. He can be funny in highly specific circumstances and intends to _prove_ it.

“Yeah, okay, you're my best friend now-- you win,” Nick says in between his remaining giggles, wiping at his eyes with a trembling hand and unceremoniously shoving his glasses all of which way in the process.

Connor quirks a brow. “That's all it takes?” He nails the teasing edge in his tone and wants to give himself an award. The fact that Hank chose this very moment to not be present was a crime in of itself, but Connor could always relay the series of events to the man later. Not that it would be remotely as funny anymore, but, well. Sometimes that's just how it goes.

Nick grins at him fully, cheeks still dappled red from happy tears, and barks out one last bit of laughter, “You heard what I said. Tired. Gay. And you're good company. None of these things are related but they all count.”

“I'm sure.” Connor smiles back, though it's only a brief tug of his lips, and turns back to his desk. It's been an entire twenty minutes and he didn't count this time, not to his usual precision, but he feels content with that. He also feels like he made leaps and bounds in a personal department while managing to be completely unproductive everywhere else that was important, and that emotional cocktail is downright _addictive_. No wonder humans did everything instead of working when they needed to work, even if it always ended poorly for them due to their many, many **[approaching]**

Connor doesn't startle when his face nearly slaps against Nick's electronic tablet as he spins back around, but he does blinks rapidly in an instinctive gesture he's not entirely sure is due to his visual components needing to readjust to the range, or the glaring light suddenly two inches from his eyes. Likely a bit of both.

There's a single file open, labeled a series of... incoherent combinations of letters and one number. It's a remarkably clean drawing of two figures, appearing to float or possibly fly around one another in dynamic, loose poses, with only minor background detail. They're both wearing peculiar, flowing outfits that curl in large arcs around them. It isn't the most impressive work Connor's ever seen, and it's a far cry from anything Markus makes, especially since the android leader prefers poignant traditional works over digital, but it's a... strangely pleasant drawing nevertheless. There isn't anything complicated about it, the lines are a harsh black in a white background (default setting), and there's no subtle messages screaming out at him through splashes of conflicting colors. Straight-forward, simple, but nevertheless expressive and appealing to the eye.

Connor understands.

 

**Author's Note:**

> would you believe i have a Bad Things Happen bingo card sitting on the back burner. waiting.
> 
> i've been wanting to write some random nick and connor interaction for a while but never rly figured out how to do it. apparently this is how! we're dabbling in nick as a person and his general views and also some fun connor pov and not playing therapist because sometimes dudes just need to hang out and not do stuff. nevermind the laws.


End file.
